Bondlock: Drinking & Bonding
by IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: James, Greg and John bond over their boyfriends. Mycroft and Sherlock somehow end up in trouble, and Q's a happy Quartermaster. See warnings inside.


**BONDLOCK**

**DRINKING & BONDING**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Pairings: **Q/James Bond, Mycroft Holmes/Gregory Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

**Note: **The fourth story in my "Bondlock: Little Brother" series. The full list can be found on my profile.

**Warnings: **References to sex, references to drug use/abuse, references to alcohol abuse/alcoholism, mild language

**Disclaimers: **James Bond belongs to Ian Fleming and various other people/studios. Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steve Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

* * *

There was a rap on the open door before Greg poked his in. ''Lo?'

'Hey, Greg, I'm just grabbing my jacket,' John said, leaving the kitchen and going to his armchair. Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, folders and papers spread out over the coffee table. 'You sure you don't wanna come, Sherlock?' he asked as he picked up his jacket.

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand, not turning away from the papers he was examining. 'No,' he said. 'Why would I want to come to one of your Holmes brothers bitching sessions?'

Greg snorted, while John said, 'They're not bitching sessions.'

'You talk about Mycroft and me,' Sherlock smiffed.

'We don't _always _list your bad qualities,' John said. 'Sometimes we talk about other stuff.'

'Like Mycroft telling me not to get drunk because I give crappy blow jobs when I'm intoxicated,' Greg piped in.

Sherlock turned to him, a disgusted look on his face, and John snickered as the genius said, 'Lestrade, did you _have _to share that with us?'

'What?' Greg shrugged. 'John likes to know.' He smirked. 'Just like _I _like to know how handsy you get after a long case.'

Sherlock scowled at his partner. John cleared his throat and tugged his jacket on. 'Right, ah...' the doctor mumbled, 'we'll just go.'

'Stop telling Lestrade about our sex life!' Sherlock snapped.

'We share- that's what friends do!' John told him. 'And it's not like Greg's gonna tell anyone else.'

'Well, Sally's always wondered what Sherlock and Mycroft are like in bed,' Greg hummed. John and Sherlock looked at him. 'I don't tell her anything,' he added.

'Whatever,' Sherlock muttered. 'Leave me to my cold case files. They're far more interesting than pints at the local pub.'

'If you say so,' Greg said.

John walked across the sitting room and leaned down for a quick kiss, Sherlock obligingly turning his head briefly to meet John's lips. 'I won't be too late,' John said. 'Text me if you need anything.'

Sherlock just grunted, already absorbed with his cold case, and John grabbed his wallet and keys before he and Greg left.

'Where's Mycroft tonight?' John asked as he shut the door and followed Greg down the stairs.

'Working on some top secret government thing,' Greg told him. 'I didn't ask, he can't tell.'

'Same as every other Holmes brothers bitching night, then?' John smirked.

Greg rolled his eyes. 'And you tell Sherlock we don't bitch about them.'

'He knows we do,' John shrugged. 'Now let's go, I need a couple of pints, and maybe a burger.'

'There's a chicken burger calling my name, John!' Greg announced and practically jumped through the front door. 'The last week has been either take-out or one of Mycroft's business dinners.'

'At least Mycroft takes you places.'

Greg snorted. 'Yeah, places where I have to wear a suit and tie and all the meals are smaller than my fist. Even Mycroft complains about the food, and you know how picky he is.'

'Well, yours eats regular meals when he remembers,' John complained. '_Mine_ thinks food was invented just to annoy him.'

'We're starting the bitching early, huh?' Greg said, amused. 'I need a pint before we get to the sex stuff.'

'Just wait 'til you hear what Sherlock did the other night,' John grinned, and the DI laughed.

{oOo}

'This is... nice,' Q settled on. He was sitting at the bar with James, two pints of beer before them, and a bowl of salad. Q liked salad, it was his favourite snack, and James was constantly making sure he ate enough to feed three people. Q had the tendency to forget to eat while working, so whenever they were together, James brought him food.

'It's just a pub, Q,' James smiled, sipping his beer. 'You needed a night out.'

'I don't usually frequent pubs,' Q murmured, eyeing his own beer.

'It has decent food, and the drinks are a good price,' James shrugged. 'It's either this or one of my favourite restaurants, and I _know _how much you hate them.'

'You have to wear a tie,' Q whined. 'A proper one! And they always glare at me whenever I wear a cardigan.' He tugged at the one he was wearing, a green and brown striped thing that James found as adorable as he did eclectic. He was used to Q's wardrobe choices by now. At first they'd amused him, now he just thought Q was gorgeous.

'Exactly,' the double-oh said. He nudged Q's drink towards him. 'So shut up and drink.'

Q rolled his eyes but obediently sipped from his tall glass. He didn't mind the pub, really. It was warm inside, but not stuffy, and though there were a fair amount of people hunkered around the tables and bar, it wasn't too crowded.

James had just returned from a mission to India. It had only been three days, but the week prior to that Q had been swamped with work. This was their first night off, and they'd already spent the afternoon shagging on various surfaces in Q's flat. James had decided it was time for a proper meal, and he'd always liked pub food. Q didn't care where they went, in all honesty; as long as he was with James, he was happy.

'So, how's that new mobile you're working on?' James asked.

Q's eyes light up, and the agent had to fight back a smile. Q could talk for _hours _on one of his personal projects. He always got so animated; James just loved listening, he didn't really care that he barely understood half of what the younger man was talking about.

Q launched into a speech about the new codes and apps he was building into his mobile phone, apps that would help agents when in the field. If he worked out all the kinks, and was satisfied that the end result worked better than any mobile phone on the market or currently coming out of Q-Branch, then the new QPhone would be standard equipment for all MI6 employees.

'I've already got it water-proof up to two hundred metres,' Q said, sounding smug, 'but it's still too bulky; the enhanced battery and satellite connection are still too big. I'm trying to cut their size in half so the mobile's just a bit smaller than the current iPhone, and-'

'Quillan?'

Q turned quickly, almost falling off his stool, but James reached out and grabbed him. He steadied the younger man and turned too, fingers twitching towards the gun he always carried when he wasn't working.

Two men easily slipped through the crowd and came to a halt before the couple. The one on the left was probably about an inch taller than James himself, with grey hair and brown eyes, while the one on the right was rather short and stocky, his hair a sandy brown, eyes dark blue.

They were both looking between Q and James, and James wondered how they knew Q's real name.

'Oh, you're Gregory Lestrade and John Watson,' Q said, eyes widening slightly. 'How did you recognise me?'

'Mycroft has photos of you around the flat,' the silver-haired man said. 'And I ran into you once when you were leaving Mycroft's... probably about three or so months after me and Mycroft first started dating.'

_Gregory Lestrade and John Watson, _James thought before everything clicked into place. _Oh, Mycroft and Sherlock's partners._

'Right,' Q nodded. 'It's nice to meet you.'

He held out his hand, and Lestrade and Watson both looked surprised before they took turns shaking Q's hand.

The genius smirked. 'I understand social niceties, unlike my brothers.'

The shorter one laughed, and the other man grinned and ran a hand through his grey hair. 'Right,' the older man said. 'Sorry, we're just used to Holmeses staring at us like we're idiots.'

'They still do,' the other man smiled. 'Even though I've been shagging Sherlock for a good year, Mycroft still thinks I'm an idiot.'

_Watson, then_, James thought.

'Mycroft doesn't think you're an idiot,' Lestrade said. 'He looks at everyone like that.'

'Not you he doesn't,' Watson said.

Lestrade shrugged. 'I'm fucking him.'

'Okay, I _don't _need to hear that,' Q said, wrinkling his nose. Lestrade looked sheepish, while Watson snickered. Finally Lestrade and Watson looked at James, and Q said, 'Oh, right, I should introduce you.'

'Bond,' James said before Q could, holding out his hand, 'James Bond.'

'Quillan's boyfriend, right?' Watson said and shook the double-oh's hand.

'Or do you prefer "partner"?' Lestrade asked. 'Mycroft does; says "boyfriend" is for teenagers.'

'Mycroft's a stuck-up snob,' Watson said, and Lestrade punched him lightly in the shoulder.

'Nothing wrong with the term boyfriend,' James commented, and Lestrade and Watson both smiled at him.

'So, you two are probably on a date,' Lestrade said. 'We'll leave you to it.'

'No, it's fine,' Q shook his head.

'Nah, we just came here for some drinks, and to bitch about our Holmes,' Watson explained. 'We try to make it a weekly thing.'

James raised an eyebrow, and Lestrade smiled at him. 'You're dating a Holmes,' he said and gestured at Q, 'he's unlike anyone else you've ever dated or met, right?'

James hummed before nodding. It was true. Q was so very, very different to anyone else James had ever met, let alone shagged. But it was his quirks, his differences, that James liked; that kept James coming back. He wouldn't change Q for anything.

'We love them, don't get us wrong,' Watson said, 'but sometimes they're a bit hard to get along with.'

'And sometimes we need to get certain things off our chests,' Lestrade added. 'John's the only person who knows what it's like to date a Holmes, so he's who I complain to.'

'And vice versa,' Watson finished.

'I can see how having someone to talk to about Mycroft and Sherlock would be beneficial,' Q said. 'I grew up with them; they're insane.'

'Yup,' Lestrade grinned.

'But we love them,' Watson repeated.

Q opened his mouth to say something, but his work phone chirped from his pocket. He groaned and James scowled at him, but didn't say anything as the Quartermaster tugged the mobile out and answered it with a swipe of his thumb.

'Q,' he said, and his brow furrowed as he listened. 'No, don't do anything!' he snapped and jumped from his stool, forcing Lestrade and Watson to take a step back. 'I'll be there in twenty minutes,' Q said before hanging up. He looked at James. 'I'm sorry-'

'Emergency?' James cut in, and Q nodded. 'It's fine,' James shrugged and dug into his pocket for his car keys. 'Take the car, I'll get a cab home.'

'Are you sure?' Q asked.

James nodded. 'Just go, Q.'

Q smiled weakly and quickly kissed James on the lips. 'I'll make it up to you tonight,' he promised and smirked wickedly, making warmth pool in James' groin, and Watson and Lestrade look at each other knowingly. 'Why don't you stay here and join the Holmes brothers bitching night?' Q suggested, waving at Lestrade and Watson. 'I'm sure you'll find a few things to complain about.'

'Of course not, love,' James said, 'you're perfect.'

Q snorted and shook his head. 'You're already getting lucky tonight, there's no need to over-do it.' James just shrugged. 'I'll see you tonight, probably between eleven and one.'

'Don't work too hard,' James called, and watched as Q waved over his shoulder, disappearing through the crowd. Silence fell and James took a large gulp of his beer before turning to Lestrade and Watson.

'Feel free to join us,' Watson said. 'We were gonna grab a booth and something to eat.'

James thought about it quickly. He didn't exactly know either man, but they were in serious relationships with Q's brothers. It wouldn't hurt to get to know them. And maybe they could talk their significant others out of stalking and/or kidnapping James in the future. Plus, there was always the chance they had some childhood stories about Q; that was worth an awkward night.

'Sure,' James finally said and grabbed his beer, as well as the one Q had abandoned. 'Lead the way, gentlemen.'

{oOo}

After finding a booth and ordering drinks for the DI and doctor, who'd asked to be called Greg and John, the double-oh turned to the other two men and said, 'I suppose you know how Q and I met?'

Greg nodded, while John said, 'You're an agent for MI6, Quillan's your Quartermaster.'

'Pretty much,' James smiled. 'How did you two meet yours, then? I heard something about kidnappings and becoming flat-mates...' he trailed off and looked between them.

'I met Mycroft and Sherlock first,' Greg said, 'about... seven years ago, now. Sherlock was a junkie, living in crappy flats and on the streets when he got tossed out and was evading Mycroft. He turned up at a few of my crime scenes and solved them all while I was still looking at the bodies. I had to arrest him once or twice for possession, and then Mycroft got involved.'

'Did he really kidnap you?' James asked, remembering Q mentioning it.

'Oh, yeah,' Greg laughed. 'He likes doing that.'

'Bloody bastard,' John grunted.

Greg ignored him. 'Picked me up out the front of Scotland Yard and suggested I let Sherlock work cases. I said I couldn't let an addict consult for Scotland Yard, no matter how good he was. Eventually I told Sherlock to get clean, then I'd give him cases. He did, and here we are.'

James had done a bit of research on Sherlock Holmes; he'd read about the genius' solve rate, as well as the whole Moriarty and fake-suicide business.

'I didn't meet Sherlock until about two years ago,' John took over. 'I was looking for a flat in London and an old university mate of mine suggested Sherlock. I kind of fell into the consulting detective business.'

'Consulting detective?' James queried.

John paused as their drinks were delivered, and sipped his pint before saying, 'That's what Sherlock calls himself; the world's only consulting detective. Anyway, we worked cases for a while until he... well...'

He trailed off, and James said, 'I read about the Moriarty thing.'

John nodded, his hand tightening on the glass, knuckles turning white. Greg was looking at John from the corner of his eye, and James guessed that it was still a sore subject for the ex-soldier.

'Right,' John finally cleared his throat. 'Well, he, uh... came back, after about six months. We worked everything out and started shagging.' He shrugged and took a larger gulp of beer.

'So, I'll start,' Greg changed the subject. 'Yesterday, Mycroft solved my case because we hadn't had sex in two weeks.'

John snorted, and James raised an eyebrow.

'You know about the whole deducing thing, right?' the DI asked.

James nodded. 'Q explained it.'

'Right,' Greg said. 'So, Sherlock makes a living out of it, whereas Mycroft mostly works on government-related things. I still don't know exactly what he does- top secret, and all that rubbish.' James smiled. 'But he's better at deductions than Sherlock, and sometimes when he's bored, or wants to see me, he'll solve my cases. Most of the time he doesn't even have to leave his office; he hacks into my computer, reads the case, and sends me a text.'

'Sherlock hates it,' John said. 'He's always trying to out-do Mycroft, but Mycroft's smarter. There was one case me and Sherlock were working on with Greg, and none of us could figure it out, not even Sherlock.'

'That Grunder Triple Murder?' Greg asked, and John nodded. 'Christ, we were working on that for three weeks.'

'No leads, at all, not even the great Sherlock Holmes could find anything,' John told James. 'Mycroft dropped by to ask for Sherlock's help- well demand his help, really- on something, and all the files were on the coffee table.'

'Mycroft takes one look at the evidence photos, as well as the wife's interview, and solves it.' Greg snapped his fingers and took a gulp of beer. 'Just like that.'

'One glance, he looked at it all for about five seconds,' John added. 'Sherlock sulked for four straight days, I ended up having to carry him into the shower completely dressed because he refused to bathe himself.'

James snorted a laugh, imagining Sherlock sitting in the shower, completely drenched and pouting. He seemed the pouting type; Q did it all the time.

'Does Quillan ever get like that?' Greg asked.

James was still trying to get used to people casually referring to his partner as Quillan. Q had told James his real name about two months after they'd started dating, but to James he'd always be Q.

'The single-mindedness or sulking?' James asked.

'Both,' John said.

James nodded. 'When he gets a code to crack, or starts working on a new programme, he can get very focused to the point where he forgets to eat and sleep. His minions- the other techs in Q-Branch- put a cot and coffee maker in his office, as well as a bar fridge, so there's always food and tea.

'Sometimes someone has to physically pull him away from his computer,' James said. 'That's if he doesn't collapse from exhaustion.'

'They're good at exhausting themselves, aren't they?' Greg mused. His stomach growled suddenly, and John laughed. 'Right, time for something to eat,' the DI said and grabbed a menu.

John grabbed one, too, and James figured he might as well eat. He hadn't had anything since lunch.

After they'd all ordered- a chicken burger and chips for Greg, the same for James, and a steak sandwich with chips for John- they got back to their conversation.

'Yesterday,' John said after taking a large swig of his beer, 'Sherlock decided to start experimenting on human organs again.'

James' eyebrows jumped, and he looked between the two, wondering if John was serious. Apparently he was, because Greg didn't look _that _surprised.

'What is it now?' the DI asked. 'Fingers and toes? Heads?'

'No, organs,' John repeated. 'Livers, kidneys, a human heart.'

'Seriously?' James asked.

John smiled at him. 'My Holmes is the weirdest. Over a year ago, I opened the fridge to find a human head sitting on one of the shelves.'

'And during a routine drugs bust, my sergeant found human eyes in the microwave,' Greg added. 'If you ever go to 221B, don't eat or drink anything unless John makes it.'

'And even then, be wary,' John smiled.

'Okay...' James hummed. Yeah, his Holmes _definitely _wasn't the weirdest. 'I take it Mycroft doesn't do that,' he said. 'It'd be a bit hard to be the British Government if you were keeping severed heads in your fridge.'

'No, Mycroft likes a tidy home,' Greg said, 'and I mean _tidy_. He claims it's not OCD, but you have to admit there's something just a bit weird about freaking out when your books aren't sorted in alphabetical order by genre and author's last name.'

'Q's a bit like that with his computers,' James tried. 'He has a system, both at home and in his office, and if I or anyone else disturbs it he freaks out.'

'Mycroft won't leave dishes in the sink- they have to be washed as soon as you've finished using them,' Greg said. 'Magazines, books, shoes, clothing, all of it has to be in whatever order he wants. He has a cleaner in twice a week, and when he can't sleep, or he's stressed or bored, he goes on a cleaning frenzy. More than once I've come home from working 48 hours to find Mycroft scrubbing the floorboards.'

'At least you can trust the food in your flat,' John piped in. 'There's usually fungus growing in my kitchen, and Sherlock tried to keep a rat in our closet to see how it reacted to sunlight after spending a week in total darkness. Fucking thing ate through three pairs of my shoes.'

'You're right,' James decided as their food arrived. Greg and John looked at him. 'My Holmes is definitely the sanest.'

Greg smirked, and John nodded seriously over his pint.

'So, James,' John said after finishing his beer. 'Exactly how did you convince Quillan to sleep with you?'

James raised an eyebrow, and Greg said, 'We both found it a bit...'

'Difficult, to get our Holmes into bed,' John offered when Greg trailed off.

'You got Sherlock into bed after two years,' Greg said, and nudged the shorter man. 'It took _me _over five years.'

'You were married for most of those five years,' John pointed out.

'Doesn't mean I didn't look,' Greg shrugged.

'_And_ flirt,' the doctor said, eyebrows raised.

Greg blushed darkly, and James smirked over his pint. 'It was harmless flirting,' Greg defended.

'Not when you wanted to get Mycroft into bed, it isn't,' John said.

'You wanted to sleep with him even though you were married?' James questioned.

'No!' Greg argued. 'I mean... sure, I found him attractive, but I'd never cheat.' He paused and scowled at his drink. 'Not that Jennifer ever said the same thing,' he muttered.

James looked at John, and the younger man mouthed "wife" at him. _Ah_, James thought.

Greg blinked and, shaking his head, re-started the conversation. 'He was hot, and I flirted, but that didn't mean I would have followed through.'

'I take it you're divorced, then?' James asked.

'Of course I am,' Greg said. 'I live with Mycroft now.'

'They started dating... what, six months after your divorce?' John said, looking at Greg.

The older man nodded. 'Because it took me six months to convince him that he wouldn't be a rebound shag.'

John snorted and stood to get another round of drinks.

'I believe you,' James said, and Greg looked up at him, eyebrows raised in question. 'You can flirt with people and not intend to sleep with them,' James elaborated. 'I do it all the time... much to Q's annoyance.'

Greg laughed, and said, 'You should see how jealous Mycroft gets whenever someone flirts with me, let alone me flirting with them. I'm pretty sure he'd relocate anyone who flirted with me more than once.'

James didn't doubt that. Mycroft Holmes struck him as the possessive type.

John returned before either man could say anything else, carrying three pints of beer on a tray.

'That was quick,' James commented.

Greg snorted, and John said, 'The girl at the bar has a crush on me. Practically drops everything to serve me.'

'She keeps forgetting that you don't go for women any more,' Greg commented.

John just shrugged as he distributed the drinks. 'Your turn, James,' he said when he'd re-taken his seat.

'How did I get Q into bed?' James asked, and the other two men nodded. 'I flirted,' he said and Greg laughed, while John shook his head, smiling. 'He ignored me, of course... at first,' the double-oh admitted. 'Then he got annoyed and told me to leave him alone. _Then _he shouted at me and threatened to send me into the field with a water pistol.'

'They like making threats, don't they?' Greg hummed.

'Yours both have the power to back it up, though,' John pointed out. 'Sherlock threatens to withhold sex.'

'And how long does that last?' James asked.

John smirked. 'About an hour before he comes crawling back wanting a blow job.'

'Mycroft lasted five days, once,' Greg admitted. 'And then he apologised and handcuffed me to the bed...' he trailed off, looking over James' shoulder, eyes glazed as though lost in memory.

John and James shared a look before John nudged the DI, who shook his head and smiled ruefully.

'I don't think I'd last five days if I wasn't on a mission,' James admitted.

'You've never withheld sex?' Greg questioned.

'God, no,' James baulked. 'Q would definitely outlast me. _I _have to make sure that _he _doesn't withhold sex when we're arguing.'

Greg and John snickered, and the older man sipped his beer before saying, 'Keep going; how'd you get your Holmes?'

'I wore him down,' James shrugged, 'and eventually proved that I wanted more than just sex.'

'Mycroft said you have a reputation at MI6,' Greg said. 'And MI5, the navy...'

'Well... yes, I do,' James admitted. 'But, like I said, I eventually proved that I wanted _him_, not just sex. And here we are.'

'Sherlock was a bit nervous about us dating,' John said. 'I had a reputation, too.'

'Three Continents Watson!' Greg laughed.

John rolled his eyes. 'Contrary to popular belief, I haven't bedded that many people.'

'Sure, sure,' Greg snickered. 'Although, from what Mycroft's said, James' reputation would definitely beat yours.' He looked at James. 'You'd be Four Continents Bond, wouldn't you?'

James smirked. 'Try Seven Continents Bond.'

'Jesus,' John shook his head and sipped his beer.

'I'm practically virginal compared to you two,' Greg said.

John snorted. 'Not according to Sally, you're not.'

'What would she know?' Greg demanded. 'I was married when she joined Scotland Yard.'

'According to office gossip,' John said, 'you shagged a fair amount of officers in your years.' A sly grin spread across his face. 'Most of them young, red-headed men.'

Greg blushed darkly, and James smirked into his beer.

'Um...' Greg stuttered, 'where'd, uh... does Sherlock know about that?'

'I take it Mycroft doesn't know?' James asked. 'He seems the type to get rid of all red-heads that work in the same building as you, just in case.'

'Or mark his territory by hanging around Greg's office, scaring the crap out of them all with his umbrella,' John snickered.

'He's not that bad,' Greg tried. John and James laughed harder. 'Okay, fine, he's a bit possessive,' Greg agreed, 'but so am I! I practically glare at all those minions he has working for him. Have you seen some of those blokes?'

John shook his head. 'He always sends women to 221B, or the surgery.'

'I wish he only had pretty young women working for him,' Greg grumbled. 'Some of those boys would do anything for a promotion.'

'Like Mycroft's gonna choose some blonde pretty boy over you,' John rolled his eyes.

Greg just continued to grumble into his beer.

The three men discussed a few other things as they started eating; rugby, which Greg was a big fan of, football, which John had played in high school, and guns; the only subject James really knew in-depth. Greg had his gun licence, as did John, and the three discussed various models, as well as the new models Q and his minions were working on. Greg and John seemed fascinated by a handgun that was coded to one person's palm print.

They also talked about old cases and missions, James figuring that since Greg and John had both been cleared to know that Q was MI6's Quartermaster, discussing the non-important details of his missions wasn't a security breach. Then again, he was sure that Mycroft Holmes had personally just ignored MI6's secrecy act and told them anyway.

'So it's always just been the three of them?' James asked halfway through his meal. Q didn't really talk about his family, even after Mycroft had kidnapped James, and Sherlock had broken in. He sometimes gave up small bits of information; Sherlock had been an addict and dropped out of university, only getting clean when Greg had offered to give him cases to work on. And Mycroft had had a problem with alcohol until Sherlock and Q stepped in, but that was years ago. Q was apparently the only Holmes who hadn't turned to some type of substance to help calm his mind.

Then again, he _was _addicted to tea.

But, as Q often said, he just wasn't smart in the same way his siblings were. Mycroft and Sherlock could deduce people, Q couldn't; their minds worked differently, too quickly. Q found solace in computer programmes and technology, Mycroft in government plans and Sherlock in cases. MI6 was good at keeping Q busy. But, sometimes, Mycroft and Sherlock's jobs just weren't enough.

'Yeah, pretty much,' Greg nodded after swallowing a mouthful of chips. 'Mycroft's mentioned a few cousins, but they're all estranged.'

'Sherlock's never mentioned anyone,' John complained. 'I didn't know about Mycroft until after he'd kidnapped me, and Sherlock didn't tell me Quillan existed until he asked Sherlock for help a few months ago.'

James tried not squirm. That would have been when he disappeared for two months.

'Their dad, Siger, died when Mycroft was fourteen,' Greg explained, 'Sherlock was four, Quillan was one. Their mum took his death hard and fell into a depression or something, so Mycroft pretty much raised his brothers. By the time Meghan- that's Mummy, to them- got her act together, Mycroft was twenty-three. He was too old for her to be a proper parent, but it wasn't too late for Sherlock and Quillan. So they've always been a bit babied and protected by both Mycroft and their mum.'

John looked as intrigued as James, and the double-oh guessed that, like Q, Sherlock didn't talk much about his family. Apparently Mycroft had no qualms sharing his childhood with Greg.

James now had a better understanding of just why Mycroft was as protective as he was. If he'd spent a good ten years raising his two younger siblings, he'd be over-protective too.

Vaguely, James wondered what it said about the Holmes brothers that they'd all latched onto, and were dating, very similar people, all of them men; Greg, who was a Detective Inspector; John, a doctor and ex-soldier; and James, a secret agent for MI6. Their jobs inherently surrounded helping people, whether that be solving crimes, stitching people up, or making sure a new brand of terrorist couldn't destroy Great Britain.

They were similar men, and, compared to the brothers, very normal. While it was clear that Greg and John were above average intelligence, and James had to be smart to have survived this long alive and with all his limbs, they were nowhere near as intelligent as the Holmeses.

And yet, the brothers seemed to love them, and enjoy their company. It was clear that Greg and John had helped both Mycroft and Sherlock in their own ways, and James liked to think that he'd brought Q out of his shell and made him happier.

_Genii need an audience_, Q had once told him. In James' eyes, genii needed someone to ground them. At least, the Holmes brothers did.

The three men put away more and more beer, conversations jumping between police cases, old stories John had heard while on tour, the many things Q-Branch had done when pissed off at an agent, and, of course, the three Holmes brothers.

By eleven, James was close to being drunk, but Greg and John were worse off; apparently they couldn't handle their liquor as well as 007. The two were giggling and talking about blow jobs as they left the pub, and James had to laugh. He hadn't had this much fun in... years, probably. He and Alec Trevelyan- 006- often went out for drinks when they were both in London, but they mostly talked about their missions and one-night stands. James found it a nice change of pace to talk to two men who were in serious relationships with men who were a bit... odd.

'You should join us next time,' John said suddenly, clapping James on the back.

Greg wobbled beside him. 'Though keep in mind, whoever starts bitching first buys the first round.'

'And the first person to say, "But God, I love him", buys the last,' John added with a grin.

Chuckling, James said, 'If I'm in the country, I'll definitely swing by.'

'Good man!' John shouted and groped his jeans for his wallet. 'Where the fuck... wanna share a cab, Greg?' he asked the DI. 'Can't find my wallet.'

Before Greg could answer, a black car slid up to the curb, and John glared at it.

'Nah, seems my boyfriend wants me home,' Greg said with a wicked grin. 'Anyone fancy a lift?'

'Sure,' John said and stumbled towards the car, the door opening for him.

'James?' Greg asked.

'I'm fine,' the double-oh shook his head. 'I'll get a cab.'

Greg shrugged, said, 'Suit yourself,' and waved as he walked after John.

James watched them go, just to make sure they didn't fall and split their heads open. Once the car had pulled away, James started walking. He didn't realise he was still smiling stupidly until he climbed into a cab five minutes later. Holmes Bitching Nights were pretty fun.

{oOo}

Sherlock was in bed when John stumbled into the flat. The genius listened to his partner curse and potter about, trying to brush his teeth and pull his clothes off at the same time. He hated when John tasted and smelt like alcohol, but understood that John enjoyed- and needed- the nights out with Lestrade.

When John finally joined him in bed, Sherlock wrapped all his limbs around the doctor like usual, and John chuckled.

'Hello there, beautiful,' he said.

'You're drunk,' Sherlock mumbled into John's shoulder.

'Mm,' John murmured. He was only wearing boxers and shivered, moving closer to Sherlock. 'Quillan was at the pub with his boyfriend,' he said suddenly.

'Was he?' Sherlock asked. He really didn't want to talk about his brother. He'd finally solved the cold case Lestrade had given him, and had been hoping that John would be open to sex when he got home. He usually was after a night out with Lestrade.

So he started kissing John's naked shoulder, smiling when John shivered.

But suddenly the doctor pulled away and glared at Sherlock, who blinked in the dark. 'Did you know Quillan never keeps fingernails in the jam?'

Sherlock groaned.

{oOo}

'Honey, I'm- _mmf_!' Greg was cut off when Mycroft crushed their mouths together. The genius was still wearing his work clothes, though only the dress shirt, tie, and trousers. Greg shivered as his mouth was plundered, and wasted no time in grabbing Mycroft's hips.

When Mycroft finally pulled away, his breathing ragged, Greg said, 'I ran into James and Quillan!'

'You did?' Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

Greg nodded vigorously, still grinning, and pressed his body further against Mycroft's. 'James is _fun_,' he announced.

'That's good,' Mycroft chuckled and tried to kiss Greg again.

But the DI pulled back, and fixed the younger man with a stern look. 'Did you know Quillan never wakes James up at three am to wash his pillow covers?'

Mycroft groaned and rubbed his eyes.

{oOo}

_Keep your agent away from Gregory- now I'm only allowed to do laundry between six pm and midnight - M_

**John was fine with my experiments until Bond mentioned that YOU don't keep livers in the bathtub. I hate you and your boyfriend - S**

Q chuckled as he locked his phone. He finished brushing his teeth, and got a glass of water before heading into the bedroom. James was already in bed, sprawled across the mattress like usual, the duvet only covering his lower half and showing off his toned and naked chest.

Q licked his lips as he set his glass on the bedside table and climbed under the covers. He took his glasses off and rolled over, wrapping his limbs around James. The agent let out a sigh and his right arm tugged Q closer.

'You're home early,' he commented, voice thick with sleep.

'Mm, the problem wasn't as difficult as I'd been told,' Q said. 'Go back to sleep,' he added and kissed James' chest.

'You promised me sex,' James reminded him.

Q smiled. 'How about a quick and hard morning fuck?' he offered.

James groaned and pressed his face to Q's hair. 'You'd better be naked when I wake up.'

Laughing, Q sat up just enough to kiss James properly. 'Did you have fun with Gregory and John?' he asked, settling back down.

'Mm,' James hummed. 'They're good blokes.'

'Did you bitch about me?' was Q's next question.

'Not really, no,' James said. 'Despite all your quirks, I've discovered that you're much, _much _saner than either of your brothers. Did you know Mycroft sometimes does the laundry at three am, and Sherlock keeps body parts in various rooms of the flat?'

'Yeah, they both did that when they were younger,' Q said. 'They just texted me, actually.'

'Oh?'

'Mm. Apparently I have to keep you away from Gregory and John; you've made them realise that their boyfriends are insane.'

James snorted. 'If they've only just realised it, then there's no hope.'

'That's what I was thinking,' Q said.

'So should I stay away from them?' James asked.

'No,' Q shook his head. 'I like pissing off my brothers; good fun.'

James snorted. 'I always knew you were evil.'

'But at least I'm sane,' Q quipped.

* * *

{THE END}

* * *

**Author's Note: **I just really, really love it when Greg, John and James bond and compare notes on their Holmeses.

For some reason, my muse is completely focused on this universe. I've already written half of the next story, and I've got the one after that planned out completely. So, I hope you enjoyed this one and want more :]

Cheers,

{IBegToDreamAndDiffer}


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